This seems like a drinking sort of occasion, so Andy gets the bottle of bourbon out of the bottom drawer of Nick’s desk and pours a couple inches into a pair of clean-looking coffee mugs. Nick takes his cup, holding it up in a silent toast, and neither of them need to mention what they’re drinking to. It’s too many things to fit into a toast anyway—it’s making peace with the future and also with the past; it’s looking forward but also holding tight to the present. Nick knows that when Andy thinks too hard about the Chronicle, he still feels a little sick to his stomach, and Nick’s own demons
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